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Paula
opened the garage door and hauled the trunk out onto the driveway.
“Let’s get rid of this.”

Her
mother, Mildred, wasn’t sure.

“Why
not for heaven’s sake?”

“I
don’t know, it was your father’s…”

“…piece
of junk. Mother, he’s gone. I miss him too, but there’s no reason
to keep this. There’s nothing but junk inside.”

Mildred
sighed. “I suppose.”

“How
much should we ask for it?”

“I
have no idea.”

“Twenty
bucks?”

“Twenty
seems so little.”

“We’ll
be lucky to get five.”

“Ok,
twenty. I hope no one buys it.”

Paula
wrote out the price tag, tied it to the lock of the trunk and dragged
the trunk out onto the front yard.

It
was yard sale day and the weather was perfect. She opened the
driveway gate and placed the large yard sale sign she had made on the
edge of the road.

By
noon, visitors and sales were vigorous but the trunk sat alone and
untouched. Paula thought about slashing the price to five dollars
just to get rid of it but decided to wait until three, when she would
mark down everything remaining.

It
was almost two o’clock when she heard a voice behind her, “May I
open this trunk?”

She
turned and came face-to-face with the tallest most attractive
middle-aged man she had ever seen, “Yes, of course. But everything
in the trunk has to go with it. Is that understood?”

“I
take it you’re not fond of the contents.”

“My
father was a collector … of everything. It drove us crazy.”

“Elmer,
right?”

“Yes,
did you know him?”

“Quite
well.”

“I
don’t understand. I’ve never seen you before.”

“It
was a long time ago. Twenty dollars? I’d like to buy it.”

“Sure,
but why?”

“Here,”
he handed Paula a crisp twenty dollar bill.

“Thank
you. But I’m still curious why you want this thing.”

“Well,
now that the trunk belongs to me, I guess I can tell you.”

“Yes,
please do. Wait. Let me call mother. I think she’d…”

“No,
don’t. She may find it too painful.”

“Too
painful? I don’t understand. What’s your name?”

“Clark.
Clark Kent.”

“You’re
kidding?”

“No,
I’m not,” he broke into a beautiful grin.

“So,
what is it with you and this trunk?”

“Love
letters.”

“Love
letters? I still don’t understand.”

“In
the trunk.”

“There
are no love letters in here.”

“Yes,
there are. Elmer told me where he put them.”

“Love
letters from whom, to whom?”

“Love
letters from me to Elmer, your father.”

Paula’s
jaw dropped slightly as she stared in disbelief at this beautiful
stranger.

“There’s
a false bottom. The letters are in there.”

“Wait
a minute. Are you telling me that you and my father were…?”

“Lovers?
Perhaps. You must be Paula?”

“Yes.”

“He
loved you a great deal. He wrote about you quite often. I feel like I
know you very well – almost like a sister.” Clark smiled. “I
hope you don’t mind?”

“No,
of course not, but how? When?”

“It
was a very long time ago. I see the braces are gone. You have
beautiful teeth.”

“Yes.
Thank you. I hated them.”

“I
know. You thought they made you look so ugly.”

“I
did. That’s amazing.”

“What’s
amazing?”

“That
you know.”

“I
know a great deal about you and your mother. Your life really.”

“Just
through letters?”

“There
are hundreds of them. Elmer played with words in a way that made me
laugh and a few times made me cry. I’m thinking of writing a book
based on his letters.”

“You’re
not.”

“I
am. Weren’t you aware of what a great writer he was?”

“No,
I wasn’t. But you only saw him once.”

“We
were together only a few days. He saved my life.”

“Saved
your life? How? How did you meet him? Where did you meet him?”

“I
was sixteen and living on the streets of San Francisco. My father
kicked me out of the house the night I told him and my stepmom I was
gay. I was fifteen.”

“Oh,
my God. That’s terrible.”

“You
have no idea.”

“I
am so sorry.”

“No
need. It was a long time ago. Because of Elmer, I learned to
understand and forgive them, and let them go. It was one of the
treasures he gave to me. I stopped going to school and sold myself to
stay alive. A friend … are you crying?”

“I
can’t believe what I’m hearing. How could anyone…”

“It
doesn’t matter.”

“It
does matter, but how was my father involved?”

“A
friend told me about a guy who was in town for a few days on
business. I called him. It was your father.”

“It
must have been Thanksgiving? Must be twenty years ago.”

“Yes,
it was. It turned out to be the most wonderful Thanksgiving I had
ever had. Elmer was so generous and caring I could hardly believe he
was real.”

“I
remember. He was supposed to be home, then extended his stay for
business reasons. It wasn’t like him to do something like that.”

“I
hope you’re not disappointed. He was a very giving man, a very
selfless man.”

“No,
I’m not disappointed. How could I be? I’m just surprised.
Overwhelmed is a better word. And you never saw him after that?”

“No,
it was the only time, but he wanted me off the streets and insisted I
go back to school. He supported me financially and emotionally until
I was able to take care of myself. If it hadn’t been for him, I
have no idea where I’d be today.”

“That
sounds like him. Did you know about his illness?”

“Yes.
In one of his last letters he told me of his forgetfulness and the
prognosis that dementia was inevitable. He told me not to write again
and mentioned where he was placing the letters I had written to him.”

“The
trunk.”

“Yes.
Letting go of him was probably the most painful thing I’ve ever had
to do as I imagine it was for you and your mother. He wrote several
more times, describing the decline. At the end of each letter, he
always said not to reply. I wept such bitter tears over those
letters. I replied to his letters anyway but never sent them. It
helped in a small way.”

“It
was awful watching him disappear from our lives. The day he passed,
his memory returned for a few hours and then he was gone.”

“Thank
you for telling me that. I always wondered.”

“How
did you know about the yard sale?”

“I
come to town occasionally on business and was perusing the newspaper.
I recognized the address in the classifieds. Kind of popped right off
the page. I had intended to stop by so many times and ask for the
trunk, but feared your reaction to such a request. The yard sale was
like a gift from heaven. And, for what it’s worth, I’m not
certain Elmer was in love with me. He just wanted to help.”

“Hi,
Mom.”

“Well,
it looks like you’ve sold the trunk after all. Young man, I hope
you get better use out of it than we did.”

“Mom,
do you know this man?”

“No,
I’m afraid I don’t. Should I? Paula, what is it? Have you been
crying?”

“This
is Clark Kent.”

“Hello,
Mildred.”

“Oh,
my living stars. Oh, dear God in heaven.” She moved forward and
took his hands, “Clark, I can’t believe it’s you. Oh, my dear
boy, I am so happy you’re here.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed
his cheek.

“Mother?
You know about him?”

“Yes,
of course I know.”

“But
you never said anything?”

“Sorry
to disappoint you, my dear.”

“Why
not?”

“Because
it was none of your business. Clark, won’t you please come inside.
I have so many questions.”

“Of
course, Mildred. I’d love to.”

“Elmer
told me everything about you. He loved you like the son we never had.
I hope you’ll become part of our family.”

“I’m
so surprised. I hardly know what to say.”

“Can
I come to?”

“Yes,
but mind your manners.”

“When
did I ever do that?”

“She’s
always been a handful.”

“I
know,” Clark laughed. “Elmer used to write about her all the
time.”

“Yeah,
well I’d like to see those letters.”

“Play
your cards right, Paula, and I might show them to you someday. And
keep your hands off of that trunk. It belongs to me now.”

“Clark
Kent. Are you sure that’s your real name?”

The End

The
Doll

Marge Benson circled and underlined the last of three yard sales in
the newspaper. It was a block yard sale which meant there would be
lots of goodies and hopefully a treasure or two. She folded the
newspaper, drank the last of her coffee and placed the empty cup in
the sink.

“Okay, girls, let’s go.”

“Mom, do we have to?”

“Clarise isn’t available to babysit so you're stuck with your
mother. I know this is cruel and unusual punishment but there’s
nothing to be done about it. Where’s your sister?”

“She’s next door, hiding.”

“From you or me?”

“From you and your yard sales. Don’t you have enough dolls?”

“It’s my hobby ... the one thing I enjoy doing besides keeping
you and your sister out of trouble. Someday you’ll have babies of
your own and you’ll be begging me for a few of them.”

“But you won’t let us have them, right?”

“Right. Okay, here’s a promise. Let’s do the three yards sales
without any more complaining, and I’ll do anything you want the
rest of the day.”

“Really . . . anything?”

“Really. Well, almost anything? Now come on. No more dawdling.”

Marge and her twin daughters, Tracey and Olivia, pulled up in front
of the Lackner residence. “Last one, girls. And then I’m yours
for the rest of day.”

“More junk,” Olivia announced as she closed the station wagon
door.

“No, no, sweetheart. There’s history here and hopefully a
treasure that will pay for your college education. Oh, look. There’s
a clothes rack over there. If you find anything you like, I’ll buy
it.”

“Oh, gee, Mom. Thanks.” Olivia and Tracey wandered off to the
clothes racks and began sorting through the women’s clothing,
trying on hats and dresses mixed with much laughter.

Marge had high hopes as she scanned the yard; then headed for the
table with children’s toys. The other two yard sales had slim
pickings. She had come away empty handed.

There were two tables filled with an assortment of stuffed animals,
toys, a few rag dolls along with more modern dolls which were no
longer wanted. She was about to turn away when she saw a doll sitting
in a shoe box under one of the tables. It was slightly hunched over
as if it were napping. As she retrieved the box, she wondered if it
was even for sale. Placing the shoe box on the table top, she gently
lifted the doll into a sitting position. Her breath caught when she
saw the porcelain face. It was obviously vintage and in mint
condition. She picked it up and examined it more closely. The
clothing was old and somewhat soiled but the head, hands, and feet
were perfect. The stuffing of the arms and legs was a little weak
but that could easily be repaired. This was the treasure she had been
looking for.

A gentle voice from behind surprised her. “You have someone in mind
for this doll?”

Marge turned and smiled; “Good morning. No, it’s for me.”

“For you?” The woman smiled with surprise.

“Yes, I collect these vintage beauties and refurbish them. They
don’t make dolls like this anymore.”

“Indeed, they do not. I brought this with me from Germany.”

“Is that so? How very interesting. It’s probably quite valuable.
Why are you selling it?”

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted someone who will care for it as I
have. It sounds like you’re the person. I’m Fredda Lackner.”

“Oh, Fredda, I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Marge Benson and
I’ll buy her. But I’d also like to hear a little history of the
doll if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, yes, indeed, there is a history. And I would be pleased to
share it with you, but I must warn you … there is sadness in the
story.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’d still like to hear it.”

“Very well, come sit with me. I have tea or coffee and Stollen in
the tent over there.”

“Oh, yum, German coffee cake.”

“You’ve had it before?”

“There’s a German Deli where I used to live. They had all sorts
of wonderful things.”

Fredda poured tea and placed a plate of Stollen on the table.

“Are you sure you want to tell me? I have a feeling this doll holds
many dear memories for you.”

“Yes it does, but so many years have passed, it’s not painful
anymore. And I do want you to know about the doll and who it belonged
to.

“Yes, please tell me.” She pulled a small notebook from her
shoulder bag and opened it. “I make little cards for all the dolls
I own with any history I can find.”

Fredda smiled, “What a lovely idea.” She sipped her tea and
settled back. “Let me begin by telling you the doll belonged to my
little girl whose name was Greta. She was lost to me when she was
three and a half.”

“I’m so sorry. How did she die?”

“Oh, she didn’t die. She was taken from me by her father.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake? Fredda, that’s terrible.”

“I wanted a divorce. I caught him once too often being unfaithful.
I wanted to put an end to it.”

“Did you try and find them?”

“Oh, yes, I tried for years and spent a fortune, but eventually I
gave up. There seemed to be no hope of ever seeing her again.”

“How could something like that happen in this day and age?”

“My husband was intelligent and a very smart lawyer. He found a
way. After seven years I had the legal right to have him declared
dead so I could move on with my life.”

“And you obviously did move on.”

“I was very fortunate to have Gustav who supported me through the
worst. When I was finally legally free, he asked me to marry him. Of
course, I had already fallen in love with him. Without his love, I
don’t know how I would have survived the loss.”

“And the doll was all you had left.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I don’t know how you can part with it. I wouldn’t be able to.”

“I’m convinced Greta survived and grew into an adult woman. She
would be forty-one now and probably has a family of her own
somewhere. The doll was no longer important to me. I just decided to
let it go. And voila, you came along and seem like the perfect
person to have and care for it.”

“Well, you got that right. I’ll have her looking like new in no
time. “

“Mom, here are some things we want. Can we leave now?”

“Hi, girls. Fredda, these are my daughters, Tracey and Olivia.”

“Oh, how beautiful and identical twins. I’ll bet you girls have
a good time fooling people.”

“Me, mostly. I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.”

“Here, young ladies, have some Stollen and tea.” Fredda beamed
with pleasure in serving the girls.

Marge closed her notebook and placed it in her shoulder bag, “Fredda,
thank you so much. This history of the doll will make it that much
more interesting. I’m going to finish this piece of Stollen and
then we’ll be on our way. I promised the girls I’d do anything
they wanted for the rest of the day.”

“What a lovely idea. They grow so quickly. Enjoy every moment with
them as long as you can.”

“So, what have you girls got in mind?”

“The Mall!” Tracey and Olivia laughed as they answered in unison.

“The Mall it is. Now, Fredda, how much do I owe for this treasure?”

“Absolutely nothing … it’s yours.”

“No, you can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can. Just knowing it will be cared for is enough.”

Marge held the doll up and smiled. “She is so beautiful.”

“So, Mom, what will you name her?” Tracy looked at Fredda, “She
has names for all of her dolls.”

“I don’t know,” she looked thoughtfully at the doll, touched
her face with her fingertips. “How about . . . Hedwig. That’s a
good German name.”

The color drained from Fredda’s face.

“Fredda, what is it?”

Fredda hesitated, “That was Greta’s name for the doll. What made
you think of it?”

“I don’t know, it just came to me. Oh, Fredda, I’m so sorry. I
would never have used it if I had known. I should have asked you
what Greta called it.”

“It’s all right. It was just a little bit of a shock,” she
laughed good-naturedly. “That’s very interesting. When I first
saw you I thought you looked German. Do you know your parent's
lineage? Are they German by any chance?”

“My father is German. I never knew my mother.”

“I am sorry…” Fredda hesitated

Marge looked at her new friend and waited for her to finish.

“…may I ask what your maiden name is?”

“Yes, of course, it’s Karstens.”

“Oh, my God!” Fredda’s hand flew to her open mouth, her eyes
stared in unbelief at Marge.

“Fredda, for heaven’s sake, what is it?”

“Karstens is the name of my husband, the one who took Greta from
me.”

“That’s incredible.”

“And your father’s name?”

“Elmer Charles.” Marge sat down as the pieces of an unexpected
puzzle began to fall into place.

“And what did your father do for a living?” Fredda held her
breath.”

“He was a . . . oh, my God. He was a lawyer.”

“No, no, it’s probably a coincidence. Where does your father
live?”

“He passed away a few years ago.”

Fredda’s mind began to whirl, looking for an explanation. Then her
face brightened. “My Greta had a …”

“Had a what, Fredda?”

“… a birthmark.”

“Where?” Marge sat up.

Fredda slowly placed her hand on her right breast. “It was in the
shape …”

“…of a star?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded.

Marge opened her blouse, lowered her bra strap, exposing her right
breast.

Marge stared at Fredda. “Are you absolutely sure the mark is the
same?”

Fredda nodded slowly as the joy of realization spread across her
face.

Marge sank back into her chair as she buttoned her blouse. Then she
began to laugh. “Oh, my God!” she shouted and looked at her
daughters, “This woman is my mother, your grandmother.”

Marge leaned forward and took Fredda’s hands and held them tight in
her own. “Mother. I never thought I would say those words. Mother,
Mother, Mother.” She could not stop laughing. “And these are your
grandchildren.

Fredda nodded and whispered, “I know.”

A young woman ran into the tent. “What’s going on? Mom, are you
okay?”

“Marge, this is my daughter, Grace, your sister.”

“My sister?” Grace was confused, “Mother, what are you talking
about?”

“This is Greta.”

“What?” Grace could only stare at Marge.

“You had a daughter after me?”

“Yes, and two sons. You have brothers and a sister and aunts and
uncles.”

“Oh, my God, Glenn will not believe this.”

“Glenn?” Fredda wasn’t sure who Marge was referring to.

“My husband.”

“Why don’t you call him and have him come here. We’ll have a
little celebration.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll call him right now.”

“I don’t want you to get out of my sight for a minute.” She
turned to Grace, “Honey, call your father and tell him what’s
happened. Have him bring home some things for a celebration.”

Marge began to laugh. “Do you realize what this means?”

Fredda nodded, “You have a family and I have my daughter back.”

“If you had not kept this doll, we …”

“I know.”

Marge whispered, “Thank you, Mother. A thousand times, thank you.”

“I suppose that means the Mall is out?” Olivia grossed.

“No, no.” Fredda stood up. “We will go to the Mall … all of
us. Afterward, we can all come back here for a little celebration.”

Marge got up and embraced Fredda, “Yes, all of us. How very
perfect. You and I have so much to talk about, I can hardly wait.”

“I know. Neither can I. But, in the meantime these young ladies
need some Mall time. Come on . . . let’s go.”

The End

The
Pendant

Karl
Malone woke with a start and sat up in bed, breathing hard, his
pajamas were soaking wet. He threw the bedcovers off and put his legs
over the side of the bed. The clock on his nightstand glowed 2:15.

The
hall light came on. “Dad?”

“It’s
ok, Sweetie.”

“Nightmare
again?”

“Yeah.
Did I wake Sonny?”

“Yes,
but I told him to stay in bed. He’s worried, and so am I. Can I
get you anything?”

“No,
I’m all right. Just going to sit here awhile. You go back to bed.”

“Call
me if you need anything.”

“I
will. Thanks, Kathy.”

He
rubbed the back of his neck and put his head in his hands. ‘What in
the world is she trying to tell me?’

He
hadn’t told anyone the truth of the matter because it was so
strange. His dreams had been of Hilda, his late wife. It was the same
dream over and over. ‘Find it.’ She kept telling him, ‘Find
it.’

‘Find
what?’ He couldn’t imagine what she was referring to if it really
was Hilda trying to communicate with him. But why? She was gone and
beginning a new life somewhere else. What was so important she needed
to cut through the veil?

He
shook his head, got up and exchanged his pajamas for dry ones. As he
lay down he whispered, “What is it, Hilda. What do you want me to
find?” He closed his eyes and felt the comfort of his wife near him
as he drifted off to sleep. “I’ll always love you, my friend.”

Then
he heard her again. He wasn’t asleep this time. He strained to hear
every word, “It’s been stolen, my dearest. You must find it.”

“I
don’t know what you are referring to but I will search. I promise
you. I will search.”

The
day had already broken when he opened his eyes. He climbed out of bed
and headed for the shower muttering to himself, “I will find it,
Hilda. I will find it.”

“Mornin’
… yum, pancakes. And with raisins. Raisin faces. Who did that?”

“I
did.” Sonny, his seven-year-old grandson, laughed and ran into the
arms of his grandfather.

“What
a shame to eat those beautiful faces.”

“I
can make more.”

“You’re
a very talented artist. You know that, don’t you?”

Sonny
giggled and went to his chair as Kathy laid the first plate of
pancakes on the table.

“The
dreams. I know this sounds crazy but she keeps coming to me and
telling me to find it.”

“Find
what?”

“I
don’t know, but in the last dream, she said it had been stolen.
You’ve gone through all her things. Was anything missing?”

“Dad,
I wouldn’t know if something had been stolen. Wait a minute. There
was something odd.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Well,
when I cleaned out her dresser I noticed that the lock on her jewelry
case had been broken as if a screwdriver or some object had been
wedged in and the lock was forced open.”

“Was
anything missing?”

“I
don’t know. The contents didn’t seem to be disturbed. Perhaps she
lost the key and forced it herself.”

“No,
she didn’t lose it. She kept it on that charm bracelet she always
wore.”

Kathy
got up from the table and hurried out of the kitchen. When she
returned she laid the charm bracelet next to Karl’s plate. “You’re
right. Here it is.”

“She
said it was stolen so it must mean a piece of jewelry was taken. I
can’t think of anything else. But why? Nothing she had was that
expensive. We need to go through the box and see if we can figure out
which piece is missing, if any.”

“Then
someone got into the house if that’s the case.”

“I
never lock the doors. Maybe it was one of the neighbor kids who saw
we were away.”

“Let’s
go through the jewelry box when I get back.”

“Where
you headed?

“The
Beckway’s are having a yard and garage sale. I want to get there
early. They always have such good stuff. Would you watch Sonny? I
won’t be long.”

“I
think we’ll tag along. Haven’t seen Greg since he did the
plumbing repairs.”

“Was
he in the house alone?”

“No,
I’ve always been here. It’s not Greg. Why would he do such a
thing? It has to be some neighborhood kid.”

“You’re
probably right. And in case you’re interested, Gloria will be at
the yard sale.”

“What’s
that supposed to mean?”

Kathy
laughed, “Mom told me you had eyes for Gloria.”

Karl
smiled, “Did she really say that?”

“She
did. She said you could window shop all you wanted to as long as you
took your meals at home.”

Karl
laughed out loud. “That sounds like your mother all right.”

Kathy
left Karl and Sonny to fend for themselves when they arrived at the
Beckway’s. Karl was content to follow Sonny wherever he wanted to
go. They were rummaging around in the garage when a familiar voice
got Karl’s attention, “Morning, Karl.”

“Gloria,
how nice to see you again.” His voice trailed off as he stared at a
pendant around Gloria’s neck.

“Oh,
you noticed. Isn’t it lovely?”

“Yes,
it is.”

“Greg
found it at an antique store downtown.”

“Did
he really? How nice. It’s not an antique by the way.”

“It’s
not? Greg told me it was.”

“No,
I gave one just like it to Hilda on our anniversary. Is there an
inscription inside?”

“I
didn’t know it opened.”

“Yes,
you just have to turn it slightly and it pops open.”

“Well,
let’s see.” She removed it from around her neck and handed it to
Karl.

“You
seem to know all about this. You open it.”

Karl
opened the pendant, then looked up. “Gloria, this is my wife’s
pendant.”

“What?”

He
turned the pendant so Gloria could read the inscription, “To my
darling wife, Hilda.”

She
looked at Karl. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m
certain you don’t, Gloria. Greg stole this from Hilda’s jewelry
case the day he was over to do plumbing in our bathroom.”

“Karl,
I don’t know what to say.”

“There
is something else inscribed which I didn’t do. I’d like to have
the pendant back if that’s ok.”

“Well,
of course, it’s okay. My God, I hope you don’t think I had
anything to do with this?”

“I
know you didn’t. That never crossed my mind.”

I can
hardly believe Greg would do such a thing.”

“I
can. Gloria, look around. You have more yard sales than anyone else
in the neighborhood. Where did all this stuff come from?”

“I
don’t know, I never thought about it. Greg seemed to have a handle
on the situation.”

“I’m
afraid Greg is a professional thief. If I were you, I’d get a good
lawyer.”

“A
good divorce lawyer is more like it.”

“Be
careful, Gloria. He’s no dummy. Don’t get even … get
everything.”

Gloria
rested her hand on Karl’s arm. “Karl, I can’t thank you
enough.”

“By
the way, if you ever find yourself on your own again, let me know.
I’d love to take you to lunch.”

“I
will. I definitely will.”

“What
was her reaction when you showed her the inscription?”

“The
word flummoxed pretty well covers it.” Karl grinned. “But look at
this. There’s a number inscribed on the inside. I didn’t do that.
I wonder what it means.”

Sonny
was standing between Karl’s legs with his arms on the kitchen
table. He reached for the pendant and laughed.

“What’s
so funny my fine feathered friend?” Karl let Sonny have the
pendant. He kissed the top of his grandson’s head.

Sonny
looked up into his grandfather’s face. “It’s a box number.”

Kathy
looked at her son, “What do you mean, a box number?”

“Like
they have in a bank.” He ran his fingers along the inscribed
number.

“How
do you know this?”

“Grandma
did it.”

“Where
were you and Grandma when this happened?” Karl looked at Kathy.

“That
Jewelry store downtown.”

“He
must mean Fabians Jeweler’s.”

“Yeah.”

Kathy
turned to Sonny, “Before you were at the jewelry store, do you
remember where you were?”

Sonny
smiled and nodded his head.

“Are
you going to tell us where you were?”

“The
bank.”

“The
bank?”

“The
first bank.”

“The
First National Bank?”

Sonny
nodded.

“Thank you, Sonny,” Karl hugged his grandson.

“Yes,
Mr. Malone, I opened the safety deposit box account for your wife.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Your name is on the application. Do
you have some kind of identification? A driver’s license will do.
And you’ll need the key.”

“Oh,
my God, the key. Kathy, did you see a key anywhere?”

“No,
I didn’t”

“We
can have the box drilled open but there’s some paperwork that needs
to be filled out.”

“Wait
a minute.” Kathy smiled and looked at her son.

“Mrs.
Cline, would you show my son what a safety deposit box key looks
like.”

“Yes,
of course. Here you go.”

“Sonny,
have you ever seen a key like this?”

Sonny
smiled and nodded.

“Do
you know where it is?”

Sonny
reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring with a dozen keys. He
handed to his mother.

Kathy
fumbled through the keys, selected one and held it up.

“That’s
the one. Follow me.”

“Come
on, Sonny. I’ll give the keys back in just a minute.

Mrs.
Cline laid the box on the table, “You folks take your time.”

“You
open it, Dad. I’m too nervous.”

Karl
lifted the lid and laid it back. He picked up a hand full of papers
and laid them on the table.

Karl
began spreading the papers and then stopped, “Oh, my God.” Tears
welled in his eyes and spilled over on his cheeks.

“Dad,
what is it?”

Karl
handed her one packet of papers. “This is some sort of pardon and
it’s from the President of the United States.” Kathy looked up at
her father. “Dad, what does this mean?”

Karl
was so overcome with emotion he just shook his head. Kathy opened
the document. “This pardon is for a Gunther Frederick Geffert.”
She looked up, “Dad?”

“I’m
Gunther Geffert.”

An
hour later, “We’ll be closing soon. Do you require more time?”
She looked at Karl, “Is everything all right?”

“Everything
is fine, Mrs. Cline. There was just some good news in the box. Here,
you can replace the box.”

“Can
I have my keys back?”

“Yes,
Sonny, here they are. You take good care of them. They are very
important.

Sonny
smiled and fingered his collection.

Kathy
poured coffee into two cups and sat down at the kitchen table. She
folded her hands and waited.

“I
was seventeen when I decided to kill the town bully. It was
premeditated and I didn’t lie about it at the trial. I was
sentenced to the penitentiary for sixty years. The van slid off of
the highway during a snowstorm and I escaped. I ran and ran and ran.
I was so frightened of losing my life in a cell I just kept on
running. I lied and cheated and stole just to survive. I finally got
a break at the hardware store I worked at for so long. Gus Mathews
never asked me any questions. Before I left him years later I asked
him why. All he said was that he knew there was goodness somewhere
inside of me.”

“And
Mom?”

“I
met her a few years later and fell in love and then there was you.”
Karl looked up and smiled at his daughter.

“Did
she know?”

“Obviously
she did but never said anything to me. Look at all these letters from
Jackie Kennedy. Your mom petitioned for clemency with the First Lady
and her husband granted it.”

“What
about this envelope? It hasn’t been opened.”

“You
read what’s inside. That’s your mother’s writing.”

“My
dearest Karl. I did this for you but decided not to tell you. You
would have been ashamed and it probably would have ruined our perfect
marriage. You’re free now to live your heart’s desire. Forever
love, Hilda.”

“Dad,
are you going to change your name back?”

“No,
he’s long gone. I’ll keep the one I have now and have a lawyer
make it legal. Your mother was so right. I would have been ashamed if
she had told me.”

Sonny
turned eight and was learning to ride his new bicycle.

“Good
morning, Karl.”

“Gloria.
How nice to see you again.”

“Well,
it’s done.”

“So
I’ve heard. How did it go?”

“I
got the divorce lawyer you recommended and then I confronted Greg. I
simply told him I knew everything and if he didn’t give me an
uncontested divorce immediately I’d put him in jail for a very long
time.”

“And
what did he say?”

“He
took it calmly and agreed. He asked how I found out. I mentioned the
pendant and he never said another word. The divorce is final, he’s
gone and I have everything, thanks to you. I’m a free woman again.”

“Actually
you should thank Hilda.”

“How
so?”

“Come
on. Let’s have lunch and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Do
you think Hilda would approve?”

“Gloria,
she would insist.”

“She
was quite a woman.”

“She
was indeed.”

“I
hope I’m not jumping from the frying pan into the fire.”

“Not
exactly, but there was a moment.”

“Are
you going to tell me?”

“I
certainly will.”

Gloria
smiled, “Did I ever mention you have a beautiful face? You must
have been a knock out when you were younger.”

“Gloria,
you have no idea the trouble I got into.”

“So,
what you’re saying is that you have a past.”

“Yes,
I do and it will probably shock you.”

“As
long as it doesn’t bore me. I’ve had enough of that.”

“It
won’t. Where would you like to eat?”

“Somewhere
al fresco.”

“I
know just the place. Hey, I’m babysitting. Can Sonny come along?”

“Yes,
by all means. I think I’ll feel a little safer with him around.”
They laughed.

The End

The
Magic Fairy Tale Book

My
name is Chad Martin. Yesterday I experienced what appeared to be a
normal event, a yard sale, until I realized how extraordinary it had
been, the lingering effect of which would influence the rest of my
life.

It
was Saturday morning as I stepped onto the front porch of my cottage
with Charlie, my golden retriever, and took a deep breath. It was a
perfect day for a long, leisurely puppy walk, and it was also a
perfect day for a yard sale. It seemed everyone in the neighborhood
was having one.

As we
strolled down Evergreen Avenue we stopped first at the Clausing’s
and chatted with Margaret and Myra Lee for a few moments. The items
they had on display were hand-crafted and quite beautiful but were of
little interest to me. I did take a sample, maybe two, of the
chocolate chip cookies they offered to entice would-be buyers.

After
that, Charlie and I paused at a few more sales and spoke with
neighbors before continuing our walk. Most of the stuff being offered
– forgive me, most of the junk being offered – was of little or
no interest to me, but I did enjoy watching my neighbors interact
with one another while searching for that treasure no one ever found.

On
our return trip to the cottage, we passed the Liebemacher residence.
I was surprised to see old man Liebemacher outside arranging a table
filled with books. I had met Morris a few times and found him
pleasant but reclusive. Neighborhood gossip had him born and raised
in that old gabled house, married, had several children and was now
quite elderly and apparently alone. The children hereabouts described
him as a magician who cast evil spells on anyone trespassing on his
property, especially children. I laughed to myself at the thought and
decided to have a look at what Morris had to offer. “Good morning,
Morris.”

“Ah,
and a good morning to you, young Mr. Martin, and, Charlie. Hi,
Charlie,” he put his hand out and received an affectionate lick.
“It promised to be such a lovely day, I thought I’d put some of
these old books out and hopefully have interested folks take them off
of my hands. I have more inside so you just help yourself and let me
know if you have any questions.” He turned and climbed the porch
stairs.

“Thanks,
Morris, I will definitely holler.” My initial impression of this
collection centered on the quality of the books. They were old but
well cared for, many were leather bound with gold leaf edging the
pages. I wondered why he was letting them go. He probably had come
face-to-face with his own mortality and decided it was time to
down-size his belongings.

I
found the majority of the books were either metaphysical or mystical
in nature. I had minored in religious science in college and had
previously come in contact with the writings of a few author’s
represented in this collection.

I had
no intentions of purchasing anything on my round-the-block trip with
Charlie, having purposely left my wallet at home so temptation could
not overrule my intent. Obviously, that was not working very well as
I began setting certain volumes aside to add to my book collection.

I
paused the moment I saw the book entitled The Magic of Fairy Tales.
The gold filigree on the leather-bound volume glittered in the
morning sunlight. It appeared to be brand new until I saw the date of
manufacture on the flyleaf. Incredibly, this volume was several
hundred years old.

I
heard Morris carefully coming down the porch stairs; his arms loaded
with more books.

“Morris,
wait. Let me help.”

“Oh,
thank you. You are most kind. I guess I took more than I could
handle. Ah, I see you’ve found several books of interest to you.”

“Yes,
I have but I’ll have to come back for them. I didn’t bring any
money with me.”

“No,
no. You take them now and bring your money another time. I’ve put
slips of paper in each one stating their value.”

“Thank
you, Morris. That’s good of you. I’ll be sure to get the money to
you as soon as possible. But it’s this book, The Magic of Fairy
Tales that I find most interesting.”

“Yes,
isn’t it a beauty?”

“I
looked at the flyleaf and found it hard to believe this book is
several hundred years old.”

“Yes,
I know. I had the same reaction when I found it.” Morris chuckled,
“I decided that’s the magic of this book; it never seems to grow
old. Have you looked inside?”

“No,
I was about to when you came down the stairs.”

“Well,
prepare yourself for even more surprises.”

There
was no price slip inside the cover so I laid it aside, assuming it
was not ready for the sale. I finished sorting through all the
volumes and paused at the stack of books I wanted. There were so
many, I wondered how I would get them home.

Morris
spotted my dilemma. “There are sacks on the porch. Take what you
need.”

“Thank
you.” I took two large bags and carefully packed my books into
them. Charlie was anxious to be on our way so I thanked Morris and
told him I’d be back before the end of the day, and began walking
home.

Around
two in the afternoon I had tabulated what I owed Morris, wrote a
check and headed back to his home. As I approached his house from
across the street, I got the impression something was very different.
For one thing, Morris had removed all the books and the table from
the front yard. I wondered if he had sold the entire lot.

As I
crossed the street, the differences became even more apparent. The
porch furniture and hanging plants were gone. I mused that he had
done very well with his yard sale. People seemed to be buying
everything.

I
walked up onto the porch and knocked on the front door. When Morris
did not answer, I walked along the porch and gazed into one of the
windows. I was taken aback when I saw the room was empty. I looked
into the other windows and found the same thing, the house was empty.
I was so befuddled, I walked down the stairs and out onto the public
sidewalk, turned, and stared at the house. I hadn’t been gone that
long for this to happen.

I was
about to walk away when a car pulled up and stopped at the curb. A
young woman got out, pulled a For Sale sign from the back seat and
approached me. “Good afternoon. Are you Mr. Richardson?”

“No,
my name is Martin.”

“I’m
sorry. I thought you might be him.”

She
walked into the front yard and pushed the sign into the ground.

“Excuse me.” I had a question for the young woman.

“Yes?”

“Do
you know Morris Liebemacher?”

“Why
yes, he was my grandfather.”

“Was
your grandfather? I came to see him and was surprised to see the
house is empty.”

“It
was very peaceful, thank goodness. What did you say your name was?”

“Martin,
Chad Martin.”

“Mr.
Martin, would you wait here a moment, I have something for you.”

“Yes,
of course.”

She
walked up the stairs and let herself into the house.

I
dismissed the thought of giving her the check for the books I had
taken when I realized I’d have to explain it, which would probably
cause more confusion than it was worth.

When
she returned, she handed me a box with my name on it. “When we
cleaned out the house, I found this and put it aside. I’m so glad
you came by. I’m sure Gramps wanted you to have this.”

“What
is it?”

“I
have no idea. It never occurred to me to open it.”

I
pulled the string aside and lifted the cover of the box. It was The
Magic of Fairy Tales book with a note on top. “Paid in full. You
forgot this. Best wishes, Morris.” I showed the note to his
granddaughter.

“Oh,
I’m so glad you dropped by. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with
it. I still have all of his books and don’t know what to do with
them.”

“If
I were you I’d contact a museum and have one of their curators take
a look. I believe they are quite valuable and should be preserved.”

“I
will. Thank you for the suggestion.”

I
said my farewell and began walking home, holding a treasure that
almost got away from me. When I reached the corner I stopped and
turned around as the impact of what had happened hit me. It was then
I realized that the neighborhood kids were correct, Morris
Liebemacher, after all, was a magician and probably much more.

Gratitude
overwhelmed me as I realized Morris had come back from the other side
of the veil for me; to make sure I got the books I wanted and needed
– especially The Magic of Fairy Tales.

I
smiled as I resumed my journey home, and mused, “Thank you, Morris.
Thank you very much.”

I
clutched the box holding The Magic of Fairy Tales, looking forward to
what it had in store for me.”

The End

About
the Author J.T. Evergreen

OCCUPATION - Retired from
the grind. Reflecting on successes, failures, and regrets. Exploring
new aspects of self, writing that book which will get me an Oscar,
staying out of trouble - well, small amounts of trouble are ok.
Bringing joy into people's lives with random acts of kindness - the
ones who aren't expecting it are the best.

ABOUT ME - Alone in
blessed singleness. Wicked sense of humor, enjoy my own company, glad
I'm not young any longer. I do miss the intimacy of being in love.
Enjoy the possibilities of every moment, an imagination that won't
quite, a master weaver - give away everything I make, excellent
portrait painter, a national treasure - though no one agrees with me,
a good listener, intuitive, a good conversationalist, avoid boredom
and boring people at all costs - that's a career all by itself.

INTERESTS - Intelligent
conversation: hard to come by these days, metaphysics, mysticism, my
pups - Charlie, Max, and Bailey, seeing the funny side of life, going
to Macy's at Christmas time - kicking Santa and punching an Elf. If I
had a singing voice, which I don't, I would sing all of the time,
wherever I was - even in WalMart. Wouldn't that be enchanting? When I
receive the Oscar for the book I'm writing, I will have some baritone
sing On A Clear Day, and I will lip sync his voice. It will wow the
audience.

FAVORITE MUSIC –
Joplin’s Peachrine, Ahmad Jamal - Country Tour - the absolute best
jazz - never tire of it. Someone Waits for You – Carly Simons,
Helen Kane singing Button Up Your Overcoat and I Want to Be Bad – I
relate to the lyrics. And the Tenor who sang Springtime for Hitler in
the Zero Mostel version of The Producers. No one seems to know who he
is. What a voice.

FAVORITE FILMS – The
Celluloid Closet, Witness for the Prosecution, It Could Happen to
You, Maltese Falcon, Inherit the Wind, 12 Angry Men, Harold and
Maude, Murder on the Orient Express, Hope and Glory, Sorry Wrong
Number, Speed, Practical Magic, Apollo 13, Where the Red Fern Grows,
The original Producers - touch me, hold me - Estelle was terrific,
and Zero - what can I say.

FAVORITE QUOTES – The
poetry in writing is the illusion it creates: by me. Lord
Chesterfield: “Sex: the pleasure is momentary, the position
ridiculous, and the expense damnable.” The saddest words of tongue
or pen are these - It might have been - indeed they are. If you want
to make a success out of old age, you better start now: my mother
when I was 15. On a clear day, you really can see forever - you just
have to look. I may be rancid butter, but I'm on your side of the
bread. Inherit the Wind.